Battle Hymn of the Republic

The Roughest, the toughest, the Galactic Marines. Set in a world where peace is more prevalent than war, the Marines are here to ensure that the status quo does not get flipped around. taken from the best and brightest of every race in the United Galactic republic, the Marines will sacrifice everything to keep the peace they have fought for through generations.

In a blur of much less action or destruction as the scene at the warehouse or the sounds of constant gunfire would have suggested, the ragtag group of marines found themselves, once again, approaching the Central Hetran Marine Corps base. It was vastly different than it had been when any of them had exited earlier in the day, with all of the major entrances being overtaken by Planetary Guard units, their grey uniforms and vehicles imposing a barrier around those areas that a small group wouldn't have much of a hope of dealing with successfully. beyond the gates, and fences that they formed openings in, the base itself was in a state of total disarray. Quite a few buildings were on fire, and numerous small vehicles had been run off to road or otherwise damaged and destroyed, a few smoldering, some covered in bullet holes or laser scars. The smell of death and blood hung heavy over the areas that the PG had taken full control of. Further in, the sounds of sporadic gunfire could be heard, punctuated by the occasional boom of a grenade or some other explosive device.

The group that had thwarted the escape of the Terrorists at the warehouse had stopped for the moment, short of the gates, taking refuge inside a small shop that had entrances both facing toward and away from the massive fence line that surrounded the compound to protect it from intruders. Niall, whom had taken point, was returning from a short solo trip in which he had scouted some possible entrances, and tried to make contact with friendly forces still within the base. Giving the hastily thought up signal before he was let in, he crouched down to keep out of view of the somewhat lazy patrols that made their way around the base perimeter to ensure they hadn't missed anyone. Luckily for Niall they weren't the best at their job, and had made it easy for him to sneak around.

His communicator lit up, albeit not as bright as normal, and a map was displayed for the rest of the group to see. "Awrigh', Ma'am, Ah got tha info we needed. Luckily the base here on Hetra is pretty ol', an' iss got a few holes in security. There's a st o' drain pipes not far down tha road what the grates 'ave rusted offa. Ah met Brownie down there an' managed ta get us the passwords fer both gettin' through PG patrols as well as Loyal stronghold's. We've go' abou' 300 safe an' accounted fer inside, but they ain't got no weapons 'cept a few sidearms an' Brownie's rifle what aint got no ammunition, so support won' be much, but they can give us a good distraction so's we can get inta tha armory right easy. Here's tha map o' tha safest routes through, if'n ya'd like ta study 'em."

For his part, Niall seemed pretty proud of himself, for getting this much done on his own, and hoped it would prevent further shouting on the Sergeant's part.

"Well done, mate," Cormac patted Niall on the back once the younger Irishman had given the sitrep. He didn't show it, nor would he admit it, but he had been worried the lad would be captured. If nothing else, this event would confirm Niall could handle himself. So with his mind cleared, he considered the map.

"Seems it'd be ideal iffen we could manage to get in and out of the armory without needing tha' distraction. Without ammo it'd come down to CQC, which could rack up a bit of a casualty count on our side," Cormac thought outloud. "How much of a guard ya s'posen they've got on it? One'd figure they're probably feelin' confident in their position, so Ah'd almost wager it to be a token watch; placing most of their boots at the perimeter, and keeping our boots down. Depending on how it looks, maybe we split off? One group to help with the distraction and the other to force the armory?"

Camilla was placid and unreadable as she surveyed the information detailed before her. After a few minutes of this, she looked to the men that had fallen into her element. "My team isn't local if you hadn't already guessed, so I'll need a more detailed rundown. As for distribution, we will not be dividing forces for a distraction. He said 300," she pointed at Niall while looking at Cormac. "We're six. They can handle a distraction on their own. If the terrain permits, however, we might split to clear a path for additional ground forces."

She paused a moment, eyes darting down and to the left as if lost in thought. She snapped from the reverie with a nod. "Our guys are saying we should have aerial support inbound from a ship that recently came into orbit. Opening a gate could further that chaos for us." She glanced over at her men at this point. Bentoo shook his head dejectedly. "Fortunately, requests for armaments were approved. Unfortunately, they're on those inbound ships and we can't wait for them. We need the distraction and a full assault to pull PG resources away from air defense, which no doubt they have on high alert. In essence, by the time they get us the guns we'll either be stuck and unable to reach them, or too busy sacking the armory to give a damn. Getting those guns to our 300, however, will easily swing the remainder of the fight in our favor.

Niall at first seemed taken aback by the fact that the sergeant would ask HIM of all people what there options were- He was clearly the youngest and lowest ranked person present, lacking in a lot of the experience the others obviously held. His greatest assets were his smartassery and marksmanship, and he didn't have too many points put into his ability to lead or make important decisions.

"Well, Uhhh..." he started, flustering. "Uhh, Ah think we c'n prolly ignore any o' tha obvious routes in, given our lack o' manpower an' supplies. I'd wager tha bes' bet would be ta sneak inta one of the less guarded areas, like tha drain pipes Ah mentioned earlier." The young marine took his time to point the route out on the map, then seemed to stall after that.

Camilla nodded. This was shaping up to be a suicide mission. It was strange that the idea was almost comforting. Not because she sought death, but because she knew what to expect. "Niall, get us in. Once we've got a safe place, you'll contact your insider and I'll make a decision then. Move in two minutes. Go."

The Staff Sergeant double checked her stolen rifle and the few extra magazines she'd collected. The time wasn't really necessary, but a good way to let the team mentally prepare. Enos personally relished these moments reprieve from duty to be thoughtless and free as her body executed ingrained procedures with precision

Shrugging indifferently as his suggestion was dismissed, Cormac stretched his shoulders as Camilla set the course. Planning and giving orders had never been a strength of his so he wasn't to heart broken. At this point he wasn't even that worried about the infiltration; there was anticipation, but he was instead a tinge of excitement. After the last encounter, he was feeling wound up and eager to get moving. The only complaint he had was that it still felt as though he has eaten a hot ember.

"You'll be fine, mate," Cormac confirmed as he looked over at Niall in the two minute downtime. He was bouncing on his toes as he kept himself limber and focused. "Ya got a good head. So let's rock and roll."

With at least the first phase of the plan decided, Niall nodded when both Camilla and Cormac gave him the go ahead, although he did look visibly nervous about being given the lead on this. Sure, he was less injured than Cormac, and a much smaller and lighter person than any of Camilla's team, but that didn't exactly shake his nerves. Either way, he had to move out, and when the countdown happened and he had prepared his laser pistol and made sure his extra magazine was good to go, he moved ahead, sneaking out of the building and making his way circuitously around some of the nearby buildings and toward the drainage ditches. Hiding in the shadows between buildings and behind some dumpsters, Niall waited deftly for a patrol to pass, and then made his way down the culvert and to the large, currently very overgrown drainage pipes, finding a pipe large enough for a 2 meter tall humanoid to fit down easily, whose grate had long since corroded to nothingness, though the fact had been hidden by the large clump of weeds and ivy plants that had grown due to the excess water that pooled in that area. Checking his surroundings and waiting for everyone to arrive, he signaled the team forward once everything was clear, and then made his way into the drainage tunnel.

Cormac wasn't sure how long he had been out of it. In the back of his mind he knew little time had passed between the marines formulating their infiltration plan and beginning the move to the drain tunnels; but his head felt as though he were smothered in cotton, or like he was trying to look and listen through ten feet of water. Painfully aware of every passing moment, the Irishman felt trapped in a body that was no longer his own. I should stop. The body didn't stop. I want to shout. There was no shout. I'm going to be sick.

Cormac threw up upon entering the tunnel. He lifted a numb hand to his head and wiped away cold sweat, his hand moving down his cheek before crossing over and wiping his mouth. "Shouldn't've 'ad tha' las' pint," Cormac weezed, trying to downplay what he could only guess had been a panic attack. "An' Ah knew those pickled eggs seemed a li'l gammy."

With a playful smack for effect, he patted his cheeks to show he had collected himself. He had gotten his head back, and he could move his body on his own, but he could not dispel the heat in his chest. It had grown into a searing coal pressing into his chest, and felt like his heart had been dipped in tar and lit on fire.

He focused on his feet, and on the back of the soldier in front of him. The only option for him was to keep moving forward. That had always been his way of doing things, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let's his own body, much less his own mind, get the better of his stubborn pride.

"Besides, moving forward is how I eventually get back to Wendy," the Irishman thought to himself for some added motivation.

Camilla spared Cormac the briefest glance, noted his pallor, and made the slightest nod toward Bentoo. The corpsman fell to the rear and passed an analytical gaze over the Irishman. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

The rest of the group continued the advance, though Camilla urged Niall to a slower pace than he initially set. With only a handful of them, every member was critically important, but they couldn't stop and wait to see if Cormac pulled his nerves together.

"Get us to a safe resting position, then go make contact as planned. Our objective is the armory, then opening and securing the base. Remember you're representing me, so don't go fucking up the parley."